Claiming the Highlander

by Mageela Troche

  The sun-rays lessened as the sun’s angle left its apex in the sky. Shadows lengthened as they progressed further from Castle MacKenzie. Truth be told, Brenna depended upon the simmering anger within her when she wished to curl up and give into the ripping ache.

  Oran halted. He swung off his horse and dragged both animals into the tree line. Brenna opened her mouth but closed it again as he laid his finger over his mouth.

  She saw the horses before she heard them. The land was filled with marauders. Could this be them?

  “My lady. My lady, we hae seen ye.”

  Brenna stepped out. Raemon and his four men sat upon their mounts and in a single line. “There ye are.”

  “Have you followed us from the castle?” Brenna threw up her hands. Had she not escaped as cleanly as she believed? Oran and Alastronia joined them, leading the horses.

  “Nay, we spotted ye leaving the land. Ye maun return. ’Tis dangerous.” Raemon sent her a reprimanding look that emphasized his long nose.

  “I am aware of that since you men have given me the fright of my life. However, I shall not return.” She walked to her horse.

  “His lordship willna like this,” Jock said.

  “I would think so, but I do not care. I have more pressing duties in Inverness.”

  “That’s something fae his lordship to handle,” Raemon said and the rest of them agreed with a nod.

  “He cannot. I must do so and I shall continue onward.”

  “Then we maun gae along wit’ ye.”

  She threw up her hands. “By all means, come. Perhaps, we ought to wait for Caelen to join us as well.”

  Jock and Miach nodded.

  “I did not mean that.”

  Oran helped her back in the saddle and off the eight of them went. Brenna peeked behind her.

  “All is weel,” Raemon asked.

  “Aye, I’m just expecting for the clan to appear on the horizon.”

  Their laughter knocked off a rock of tension pressing down her shoulders. Thankfully, she wouldn’t be home when Caelen realized she had disappeared. Would he bellow? The man never did, but she could see him doing it now. A wicked part of her wished to see it just to feel that he cared for her. But she had more pressing matters capturing her attention—staying on the horse. She remember—not that she could forget her lesson—to follow the horse and keep her eyes straight. She was rather pleased that she had not embarrassed herself on the lairdess’s horse.

  “My lady, ye ought to mair wit the animal,” Raemon offered. “Ye’ll hae a better ride.”

  “We sod build her a litter.”

  Brenna shot a glare at the men behind her. She swore Uilliam spoke. She must have been correct, since he shrugged without appearing sorry for his comment.

  “I am not injured.”

  “Ye will be ance we reach Inverness,” Uilliam said. “Have ye been on a boat? ’Tis like dat. Ye roll wit the waves an same wit the horse. Loosen up in the seat.”

  She did as advised, but must have done something wrong because Uilliam shook his head, sending his long blond locks shaking.

  “Naught like that. Ye ha’e the saddle in yer middle.” She straightened until Uilliam grinned.

  “Why dinna ye learn ta ride?” Miach rode up between her and Uilliam.

  She explained her near life-ending experience. “I had terrible nightmares about hooves galloping over my head.”

  “Now, ye are ridin’ to Inverness. Ye are a brave lady an’ worthy of aur lordship.”

  She inclined her head. He threw back his head and laughed, revealing his back teeth.

  “We are brave! Wen his lordship learns wha’ we are doin’ he’d hae our heads,” Jock said.

  “He’ll have aur heads anyway,” Raemon said.

  Brenna knew her own was included in that. She wished they reached Inverness before Caelen reached them.

  * * * *

  The mountains loomed gloomy and black around the raiding party. Caelen led them through the opening of the fir trees that allowed the pale moonlight to gleam over the healthy moor. They rode single file through. Horses could ride abreast of each other even with the fir trees roots stuck out from the ground. The tangy scent permeated the air and blended with the decaying, damp scent of the loamy earth. He halted, hearing the neigh of a horse.

  He cocked his head at the sound of rumbling male voices that carried on the wind. Caelen gave the signal. His men fanned out to block the Grants between them. He drew his sword. With a cry, he charged ahead. The Grants’ patrol yanked their mounts, causing a confused frenzy. Caelen aimed his gaze on one man. His men surrounded the Grants, their swords aimed straight at them.

  “Ye dare attack?” The eldest Grant said. His horse sidestepped, no doubt smelling the tension.

  “I am the Earl of Wester Ross. I dare anything.”

  A hairless Grant pulled his sword. Caelen slashed at him. The clash of swords grew as the fighting began. He parried and slashed. Instead of cutting into flesh, his blade’s edge cut into the branches of the trees about them. The cool air did nothing to dry the sweat dotting his forehead. Thor pushed against the mount, pushing it back against the fir trees. The lad kicked out and caught Thor on the side of his neck.

  Caelen lost his advantage and ducked beneath the sword swinging toward his head. Thor bumped into another horse. The loamy ground kept his mount on his hooves and let Thor find his footing. Caelen had his sword at the ready. He swung his blade. His opponent flinched back and tumbled from his horse. He leapt to his feet.

  Caelen slammed his pommel against the side of his temple. The boy teetered. Caelen grabbed him by his leine and rammed the pommel against his nose. The loud crack echoed through the forest.

  Then there was silence, only shattered by the heavy breathing and groans of pain. The Grant patrol was on the ground. Their horses gathered by one of Caelen’s men.

  “Tell your laird that MacKenzie dares him to attack.” Caelen knocked him out and left him crumpled on the ground. Caelen galloped away with his new horses taking up the rear.

  They rode through the night, not halting for anything. Caelen had to get home. The sun had risen, but he was closer. Most of the day had been spent and evening was beginning to take over when he arrived home.

  He spotted torches dotting the night. The castle was alight with them too. As he neared, he heard calls carry. He couldn’t make out what they searched for as the bellows overlapped each other. He kicked his heels and galloped to the bridge. At the edge, a guard stood.

  “What is happening?”

  “The countess is missin’ an’ sa is the lairdess’ haerse. We ha’e the clan searchin’ fae her.”

  Caelen turned Thor and galloped toward the lights. He found Gilroy standing among a few men, giving direction.

  “My lord, thank God you have arrived.”

  “Tell me everything.”

  “We haven’t found anything. With the horse gone, we figured she went riding, but we found nothing. Rains came in and must have washed away the tracks.”

  “How long ago did you learn of her absence?”

  “At evening meal,” Gilroy answered. “I sent the cry through the clan. We have been searching since. We should have noticed earlier, since the servants were asking your mother for guidance.”

  “Could have her father stolen her away?” Caelen looked about as if she might appear and he didn’t want to miss seeing her.

  “Possible.” Gilroy chewed at his beard. His thick, unruly brows pinched low over his eyes.

  Manus rode up. “Mother said clothes are missing from her trunk and so is Oran.”

  “You think she ran away?” Gilroy swung his shocked gaze from Caelen to Manus.

  “It must be. Oran would go with her.”

  “So where would she go? There goes Alastronia’s father.” Manus pointed.

  Neacal raced forward. “My lord, Raemon and his men are gaen an’ their haerses.”

  “My Alastronia isna ’ere,” Alastronia’s father cried ou
t.

  “They must all be together, but where?” Caelen tapped his hand against his thigh.

  “Could they have gone with Father Murray?” Manus threw out.

  “Inverness.” Caelen shouted. “I swear I shall lock her up. Call the men together, but keep a few searching in case she isn’t there. As for Alastronia, I think she is with the countess. I am off to Inverness to get back my wayward wife.”

  * * * *

  Brenna rode into the Royal burgh. The wooden buildings and thatched roofs seemed much smaller under the shadow of the Inverness Castle perched on the cliff overlooking River Ness. The busy port of Inverness crammed with the sounds of shipbuilding and the sounds of life. Women shouted out ale prices and fishwives harked their goods. Friars in black cloaks preached in the streets, quoting from the bible and demanding repentance. Cows and chickens cried out. The scent of fish, bread, manure, and human flesh swirled about the streets.

  Safely guarded, she rode in the center, and the sounds of the bustling burgh fell away. She looked to Oran. “I hope the king sees me.”

  “That is something ye sod hae worried aboot befare this journey.”

  “I had too much to worry about before then.” Her group was halted. She moved her horse forward. “I am the Countess of Wester Ross, wife to the Viking Highlander, and I demand to see the king.”

  The guard took in her rumpled plaid and the blackness beneath her eyes.

  “I demand you move aside or deal with my husband.”

  He stepped aside and led her to the castle stairs. A man in French dress came out. “Lady Wester Ross.”

  He led her inside the great hall. Another man came forward and it seemed that she went from man to man until she was finally escorted to a chamber. No fire had been built and as the sun dipped, the chamber darkened.

  Finally, a servant came in along with Alastronia.

  “My lady, I finally reached ye. I had a bath an’ food ordered fae ye.” More servants came in as Alastronia finished, each bringing just want she had said.

  Brenna couldn’t decide between the food or the bath and decided to bathe first. She washed away every speck of the journey and when she climbed out, she wished to sleep. Her body was sore from riding and sleeping on hard ground. She made a very bad highlander. But she had no time for thinking such things.

  “Help me into my clothing.”

  Alastronia had laid out her French clothing. Brenna refused to don her plaid. She was a lady, and thought that she would not don any plaid. It had made sense to her, but as the skirts of her blue, silk surcote fell about her ankles, she began to have different ideas. The silky fabric of her cote and embroidered surcote swooshed about her, feeling like the softest of caresses. Once her hair was dressed, she made her way to the great hall and blended among the lords and ladies and others courting favors from the king.

  For the first time in her life, she caught a glimpse of King Alexander III. He possessed the traditional red hair of his family line that held a riot of curls, along with a large, razor-sharp nose and a firm chin. He smiled and the tip of his nose hung over his top lip. He appeared to be a kind king.

  She spent the rest of the time standing in the same spot—too far from the king. She was a foolish lass. Caelen might have been right. She had risked all for nothing but to stare at the king who was so far from her. Then she noticed Father Murray speaking with a high-ranking man of the cloth.

  She cut through the gatherers and approached Father Murray. When he spotted her, his usually calm eyes nearly popped from his head.

  “I must speak with the king. It will save my union and many men’s lives.”

  “I will see to it. I shall find you.” He rejoined the man.

  Brenna waited and watched as the king left the hall. With all seeming lost, she returned to her chamber.

  * * * *

  Caelen rode into Inverness. During the rushed travels, he turned over in his mind the moment when he realized Brenna has vanished. He shouted orders as he rode out. With every distance he traveled, he breathed a sigh of relief, but his tension notched up so that he couldn’t stop from mumbling to himself.

  The foolish woman.

  When he had finally started the chase after his headstrong, foolish wife, he had let Thor loose. He had to slow before he injured his mount and put more distance between Brenna and himself. He could only hope that her riding skills slowed her down.

  He had looked toward Inverness. He paced a tight circle, stomping down grass and bramble. When the horses were cool enough, he ordered his men to mount. This time, the ride was slow. Each day, he had searched for any glimpse of Brenna and her breathless body or her broken one. He listened for her screams even a sign of blood dripping from the leaves and soaking into the earth.

  “My lord, why wod her ladyship da such a thing?”

  He would put that same question to Brenna once he found her. She would give him dozen of reasons but none would change his mind. He and his men were outside of Inverness when morning arrived. He rode in to the burgh. His hair was wet along with his leine. Thor splashed through puddles littered with bones and other messes that weren’t pleasant. Once he was inside Inverness Castle’s great hall, Father Murray hurried to him. His cassock flapped about his feet. The holy man seemed both frightened and pleased to see him.

  “Your wife is here and is well. The men who accompanied her are in the garrison.”

  He sighed his relief, and then stiffened with anger. “Where is my wife?” He glanced about the gathering. There was no sign of his wife among the gathered people as they whispered at his appearance.

  “In her chamber,” Father Murray answered. “However, you have been forbidden to see her.”

  “What?” The silly courtiers craned their heads about to look at him.

  “By the king’s orders, my lord, I am sorry. I have other news, my lord. Laird Grant has been summoned by the king.”

  “Has he arrived?” He wasn’t among the currently assembled people either.

  “He has not; however, he is forbidden to see her as well.”

  “Good. Has she seen the king?”

  “She has not, but I imagine she will soon.”

  One of the household courtiers came up to him and promised to prepare a chamber. Caelen just nodded and wished the man would to see to the details instead of making Caelen listen to the man prattle on with his nonsense. The man vanished, finally.

  Caelen turned about and left, heading straight to the garrison. Inside, the dank building was dim and smelled of wet plaid and manure. Just inside, he found Raemon sitting at a trestle table alongside Oran. Both men jumped to their feet.

  “We codna leave her to cam alone,” Oran said.

  “You should have dragged her back. I shall deal with you all later. First, I must get my wife back from the king.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Brenna was going mad.

  A knock sounded on the door and a man entered. “You have been summoned by the king.”

  Brenna followed the man through the castle to a set of doors. She nibbled on her lip until the metallic taste of blood touched her tongue. She had her doubts, but couldn’t turn away.

  Entering, she stared at the King of Scotland standing beside a chair. He was as tall as Caelen, and years younger. As she approached, she saw how handsome he was, something she failed to notice before in the hall. He was no Caelen, but Scotland should be happy for their handsome king with his red hair and strong chin.

  “Lady Wester Ross,” he said, his voice commanding, yet with a smoothness she never imagined him to have. “Your name has been filling my ear for some time.”

  “I hope it has not been too much of an annoyance.”

  He motioned for her to sit. “Not at all. What has brought you to court?”

  She sat. Under the steady regard of his regal gaze, she stammered to get her thoughts together. “I have come for peace.”

  “A great gift that is rarely granted.”

  “Aye, my lord. As
you must know, Caelen’s and my marriage took place so the MacLeods did not get a hold on Scotland. Now my father is petitioning to dissolve my union with my husband.”

  “That along with a sherriffdom. The land does fall under your husband’s control?”

  She bowed her head to hide her smile. “Aye, it does.”

  “At least Scots pay their dowries,” he joked, making reference to King Henry of England, who still had not paid Queen Margaret’s substantial one. “And what of this bloodline your father is proclaiming suddenly?”

  “There is a tie with MacBeth. I do not know much of it, but if there is one, it is with an aunt and does not play an importance. Many couples often forget about blood when such important things hang in the balance.”

  “Aye, blood is generally overlooked; however, I must learn everything, even that. And where is your husband?”

  “No doubt on his way,” she answered.

  “Nay, he has arrived. He has been ordered to stay away from you and I order the same with you.”

  Her mouth parted and formed a perfect O.

  “Why have you not let your husband handle these issues?” He steepled his fingers.

  “I am his wife. I must help him get what he yearns for.”

  He cocked his red brows. “Do you love your husband?”

  “Aye, I always have.”

  “Truly? Why?”

  “Why do I love my husband?” she asked, to clarify his meaning.

  “Aye. Aye.”

  She blinked. “He is a good man, brave and strong.”

  “That I am aware of, but that is not the reason for your love.”

  “Nay.” She blushed. “He is kind to me, tender. I look at him and feel warmth and excitement, yet contentment and ease. I know I belong with him, and that our union is strong and just. When he is with me, he laughs. Most see the fierce Viking Highlander but with me, he reveals another side of himself, one he rarely shows.” She shook her head, feeling foolish.